


Meanwhile at Hogwarts

by magikenz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magikenz/pseuds/magikenz
Summary: Tollie Windmere, Eleanor Ferrell, Rae Holmes, and Filippa Ringwald are in their fourth year at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament and the Quidditch World Cup.I created these characters, but the world they live in still belongs to JK Rowling. I just wanted to explore what other students at Hogwarts were doing and experiencing while Harry was there. Thought it would be fun. :D
Kudos: 1





	1. Windmere

"Now, remember," dad says as he helps me stow my trunk. "Be careful." 

I swallow. "I always am." 

It took me weeks of arguing and pleading and supplicating to get my parents to let me return to Hogwarts this year. They wanted to ship me off to Beauxbatons for the rest of my education, and, honestly, after the attacks on Muggle-borns my second year and the Dementor patrol last year, I didn't blame them. But Hogwarts is my home away from home. 

"Don't worry, mum," I say as I envelop her in a hug. "Harry Potter'll be there to stop any new threats." 

She frowns, brown eyes flashing. "Not funny." 

My little brother wraps his chubby arms around my middle. "Bye," he says. 

"Bye, Stephen. See you in December." 

"Write," my dad orders. 

"I will." 

I wave to them and step on the train, struggling under the weight of my heavy leather school bag and Bella's carrier. I shouldn't have packed that last Muggle chemistry book, but it was too fascinating to leave behind. I stroll down the narrow corridor between compartments, flattening myself against the paneled wall to let groups of students pass. Finally, I find a half empty compartment at the back of the train and heave the door open. 

The person inside jumps and turns from the window. The first thing I see is a mass of curly hair the color of bright blue sports drink. The second thing is that she's very short--well, in comparison to me. The final thing is a russet red owl with what seems to be a mouse tail dangling out of its beak like spaghetti. 

"Er--" 

"Hello," the girl cries as if she's shouting from the other end of a long dinning table. "You can sit here. If you want." She indicates the open bench. 

I let my bag slump to the floor and settle Bella carefully on the plush seat next to me. "You're Eleanor Terrell, right?" 

Captain of the Hufflepuff Dueling Club. Quidditch Beater. 

"I prefer Nell." 

"Nell," I amend. 

"And you're--Tollie Windmere?" 

I nod, liking the way she runs all the syllables of my name together. Tolliewindmere. "I am, yeah." 

"Isn't your dad the guy who wrote that paper about the connection between Muggle alchemy and early witchcraft?" 

I smile, nodding. "Yeah. I actually helped with some of the research." 

"Oh, I know, I saw your name in the acknowledgements." 

I blink in surprise, but before I can say anything, her owl screeches. I start. 

"Hush, Gimli," snaps Nell. She levels a glare at him. "Sorry. I thought the field mouse would keep him quiet."

"Gimli like _Lord of the Rings_?" 

"Yeah." She flushes red, which, against the blue of her hair, makes her ewyes look like gold. "Don't tell the Quidditch guys, yeah? They're the worst about books." 

I laugh. "Don't worry." I pretend to zip my lips and toss the key out the window. 

"So what class are you excited for this year?" 

"Probably Advanced Potion Making," I admit. 

"Hence the Muggle chemistry. You know, I bet you could compare the two." 

I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure the Academy frowns on the comparison of Muggle science and magic." 

"Nah, surely not. Arthur Weasley loves Muggle stuff. I bet you could present it to him." 

I consider; Mr. Weasley's reputation as a Muggle enthusiast has won him popular support, but no real respect in the Ministry or the Academy that my parents belong to. "Maybe I will," I say halfhearedly. 

"I don't understand, though, how you're going to make it through an upper level class with _Snape_." Nell shivers. 

"Oh he's not that bad. He's just bitter because he keeps getting passed up for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job," I say. I don't want to speak badly of a teacher, but I do understand Nell's shiver. The man can be cruel, especially when Neville Longbottom is involved; the stories I heard from Lavender and Parvati were horrible. Still, he's the gatekeeper of all things potions, and all things potions are what interest me. 

Nell doesn't look convinced, but before I can explain my reasoning, the train gives a long whistle and begins to roll. I sigh and relax against the cushions, but Nell straightens in her seat, attention on our platform-facing window. "Oh my gosh," she cries. "Tollie! Look at this!" 

Confused, I crowd in next to her, following her gaze. A girl is sprinting for the train, arms pumping at her sides. She has no luggage that I can see, except a sagging canvas satchel. At the last second, she leaps, throwing herself into a still open door somewhere along the side. There are wild cheers from the middle of the train. 

"Gryffindor," Nell mutters. "Has to be." 

I shake my head; we're two seconds into the journey, and already a Gryffindor is causing a scene. 


	2. Ringwald

Blood roaring in my ears, I land in the middle of a group of Gryffindors. Elbows and knees collide as I fall, and someone's watch catches in my hair. But their cheers are worth it. 

The whoops die down, but someone's still clapping. Whoever it is holds out a dark, scarred hand, "Ladies and gentlemen, your youngest Gryffindor prefect in history, Filippa Ringwald." 

I grab the hand and let its owner haul me to my feet, coming face to face with shinning brown eyes. I dust off my jeans and grin around at our friends before dropping into a bow. "Please, don't hold your applause." 

They clap with renewed and rowdy vigor until a Slytherin peels open their compartment door and snarls at us to keep it down. Amid boos and hisses, we crowd down the corridor until we find a half empty compartment. The first years huddle in the corner as we take seats. 

I find mine squished next to Reuben in the corner, which is exactly where I've been longing to be all summer. 

"How was Greece," I ask. 

"Sunny and picturesque," he answers, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "How was Brighton?" 

"They opened a new graffiti place by the beach," I say. "We went round and looked at stuff. I definitely have some new ideas." 

"Oh yeah?" He leans away and raises a brow. "Got plans for Hogsmeade?" 

"Nah, you know the magical world is sacred territory, Reu." 

He shrugs. "A wall's a wall." 

I open my mouth to remind him, again, that I refuse to graffiti my sanctuary, my refuge from the ordinary, but Luke interrupts us. 

"Oi! Stop canoodling over there." 

"Luke, can you even spell canoodling," a feminine voice retorts. 

"You don't have to spell it to know what it is, Becky," he fires back.

"Get a room, both of you," Reuben laughs. Rebecca flips him off. We've been telling them to date since first year, but neither of us have been able to get through to them. 

I've been with Reuben Samuels since our first Halloween at Hogwarts. When the troll got in the dungeons, we were upstairs sneaking around in Filch's office. The minute we heard everyone come pounding up the stairs we thought we were going to be expelled. 

"If we get expelled, will you still write to me," he'd asked. 

"Sure," I'd said, too worried about getting expelled from the best school in the country to think about pen pals. What would my parents, both Aurors turned Ministry of Magic officials, think? 

Instead, though, we'd rushed into the throng of panicked students and pretended we'd never been missing. No one had noticed, after all, not with Harry Potter and company defeating a mountain troll in the lavatory. After everything calmed down, Reuben had said, "Hey, do you wanna hang out sometime?" 

And that was enough for my eleven-year-old brain to say, ah, a gentleman. We'd been partners in mischeif ever since. 

A gentle voice in the train corridor sends my stomach rumbling. "Anything off the trolley, dears?" 

"Pumpkin pastie?" 

"Always," I answer as Reuben rises to pay for my dessert. 

He hands it to me and watches me rip into the packaging. "Easy there, tiger. Don't want to spoil your dinner." 

"Oh don't worry," I say, shoving a mouthful of pastie into my cheek with my tongue so I can speak properly. "I'll have plenty of room." 

He clicks his tongue and stows his Cauldron Cake in his bag. "Manners, please." 

I flip him off as a soft voice at my elbow says, "Hey, Pippa?"

"Yeah?" I turn to find Grace, Rebecca's first year sister, standing in front of me. 

"That train thing, that was really cool," she says. 

"Oh, thanks. It was a dare." 

She fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt, and I'm surprised at how different she is from Rebecca. Rebecca and I've been friends since first year, but I've only been to her house once. She always says she likes mine more because it's quiet, but I prefer her family's cozy apartment; there's only her mom, Rebecca, and Grace, but it never feels lonely or stuffy. 

I take a wild guess at why Grace is fidgeting. "Nervous for sorting?" 

She nods, glancing at her sister. "Becca says not to worry because she wasn't worried, but what if I get Slytherin?" 

"Hey, not all Slytherins are bad." 

"She _hates_ Draco Malfoy." 

"Not every Slytherin is Draco Malfoy." But I agree. Weasel. With an unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter...if he wasn't dating Pansy Parkinson...

"And I'm not clever enough to be in Ravenclaw." 

Her comment snaps me back to the present, and I lower my brows, suddenly prepared to fight anyone who insulted this angel. "Who said?" 

She shrugs. "I heard you have to answer a riddle to get in the tower, and I'm rubbish at riddles." 

"Well, if you want Gryffindor, just ask." 

Grace stares at me like I've grown six heads. 

"I'm completely serious," I say, crossing my arms. "That's what I did." 

She blinks her big green eyes rapidly. "Okay." 

"And, look, if you don't wanna ask, then don't ask. The sorting hat knows what it's doing." 

She considers. "So you just ask?" 

"Just ask." 

She crosses back to her vacated seat, eyes on her shoes as she sinks into deep thought. 

Breath tickles my ear. "Think she'll ask?" 

In my heart I think no, but to Reuben, just in case Grace hears, I say, "Obviously." 


	3. Holmes

"It looks like they've moved on," Alistair says, shutting the compartment door behind him. "Bloody hell, Gryffindors are annoying." 

"Careful, Ally," I say. "Your boyfriend is a Gryffindor." 

"My boyfriend has class," he says, settling down beside the boy in question, Jack. 

Jack grins, adjusting his gold rimmed spectacles. "That I do." 

I roll my eyes, looking back down at my pile of notes. 

"I'll never understand why you insist upon doing all the reading over summer," Alistair says. He pops a handful of brightly colored Bertie Botts in his mouth and chews. "You stress yourself out when we're supposed to be _relaxing_." 

"I want to at least come in second to Hermione Granger this year," I explain, voice monotone because this is a time honored ritual between Alistair and I. We do this every year, rain or shine. Every year I study like a stereotypical Ravenclaw, and every year Granger beats me; I can't say I'm too bothered about it--the one sided competition has improved my marks so much since first year that dad said he'd take me on a proper European tour for graduation if I kept it up. 

Alistair waves his hand dismissively and turns his attention back to Jack. I let them be in their private, disgustingly cute world together, pleased that they have each other but annoyed that my summer romance ended after one week. Memories come mincing out of the dark, so I rustle my papers and thump a book shut to drown them out. I fish my headphones out of my backpack and jam them over my ears so I can't hear Alistair and Jack whispering about their sojourn in Rome. As soon as the Wyrd Sisters' voices are trilling loudly enough, I hone in on last year's transfiguration notes. Can't beat Granger if I've forgotten everything I've learned. 

***

Just being near Hogwarts after being away all summer feels like taking a drink of ice cold water after a run in the blazing sun. I've sent my bags with the rest of the luggage and stand, still blaring the Wyrd Sisters, ready to clamber into an invisible horse drawn carriage when a warm, dry hand at my elbow makes me jump.

"Oh sorry!" 

I tilt my head to look down into the person's face and am met with wild, blue hair and wide amber eyes. Nell. I grin at her as I pull my headphones down around my neck. "Hey! How was your summer?"

Nell shrugs, toeing the dirt with her dirty a black Converse. "It was fine. Yours?" 

I think about my family's cottage in the country, and the marble estate that borders it. I decide to shrug instead of frown. "Can't complain." 

"I wanted you to meet Tollie Windmere," Nell says, changing the subject but noting my hesitation.

My eyes shift to the lovely girl standing behind Nell. I smother a knowing smile as I extend my hand, "I believe we've had class before." 

"Yes," she says, squeezing my fingers with her pale ones. "And I've seen you on the Quidditch pitch. Beautiful flying." 

I bow my head appreciatively. "How do you know Nell?" 

"We met on the train, but we knew _of_ each other before that, obviously." 

"Right," I say. 

There's a short pulse of silence as we climb into a carriage. I deliberately pick a seat to one side, leaving the one between Nell and the wall to Tollie. Nell picks at her cuticles; Tollie studies a scuff on her Oxfords. A few second years crowd in behind us, the door shuts with a snap. The sound of clattering wheels and chattering students fills the yawning silence. 

"So," I say into the void between Nell and Tollie. "I never heard about your summer, Tollie. How was it?" 

"Uneventful," she admits. "Except for the World Cup. My dad and brother were there. Mum almost fainted when they appeared in our kitchen, all dirty and sweaty." She wraps a chunk of white-blond hair around one slender finger. 

Amusement turns to anxiety in my gut. Nell whips her white-blond head to stare at Nell, "They were there?" 

Tollie nods.

Nell's eyes dull, "My sister and I left the stadium later than our parents. We got caught in the cross fire." 

I imagine my friend stumbling through the crowd, shoving Daphne in front of her and weaving between smashed tents. Sparks flying, dust swirling around their ankles. Screams and shouted orders. Hooded, robed figures striding out of the smoke. The Dark Mark billowing in the night sky, cursing everything. I squeeze her shoulder; even the second years have turned to stare, but I glare at them and they abruptly begin talking again. 

"What a shitty night," I say. 

Nell frowns at my language, some emotion returning to brighten her eyes. They flit to Tollie, who has turned to look at the approaching castle, and bounce over her profile. I nudge Nell's knee with mine and raise my eyebrows. Her eyes narrow and she clears her throat, launching into a long, rambling story about her little brother. Tollie turns to listen intently, as if Nell is delivering the ingredients for a very important, very complicated potion recipe. 

I let myself watch the castle slowly grow larger, subtly replacing my headphones. The tops of Hogwarts' highest towards reach to tickle the emerging stars. My stomach rumbles as I imagine the welcome feast; heaps of steaming, delicious food spreading the entire length of the table while the ghosts look on and envy our meal. Dumbledore's speech and the sorting, the candlelight dancing off the golden plates. Everyone dressed in their billowing black robes. My toes curl in excitement; thank goodness I have three whole years left to enjoy this. 

There's a pause between songs, and I hear Nell say to Tollie, "You should join our study group." She faces me, "Right?" The urgency in her voice amuses me enough that I grin. 

"Right. We meet Mondays and Wednesdays, and sometimes on Saturdays if the professors are really awful and strict. Nell can explain where and when." 

"Usually, we just rotate through the common rooms of the group members, but a few of our friends left Hogwarts because of last year, so we'll just trade off between Slytherin and Hufflepuff for a while." 

"Hufflepuff is the best," I volunteer. "They're right next to the kitchens." 

"Yeah," Tollie says. "I know." 

I blink, remembering that I'm talking to a fourth year not a first year. "Sorry," I say. 

"It's fine." She waves a hand. "I don't interact with other students that much." 

The carriage halts in front of the gigantic castle doors, and I thank whatever power is watching over us cutting that awkward conversation short. I practically slither out, and Nell says quite loudly, "What is the first thing you're going to eat tonight, Tollie?" 

I smother a snort as I walk away, leaving them to their intimate discussion of yams and greens. Alistair and Jack are waiting for me.

"Who's that," Jack asks. 

I wink. "Nell's new friend." 


	4. Ferrell

_Scrambling to stay on my feet, I bellow at Daphne to go, go faster._ _Because if we don't, whoever is enveloped in those awful, inky black robes will get us._

_The formerly ecstatic shouts of revelers has turned to heart wrenching screams. Smoke from tents that have caught fire mixes with dust from thousands of feet racing for the safety of the trees, the open field around the campsite, anywhere but here in the canvas choked chaos. We fly past teenagers still wearing their Bulgaria merchandise, a group of Ireland fans, drinks meant to assuage their disappointment forgotten in their hands. Hooded figures in metallic masks block our path, so we veer to the right and charge behind some tents that are clustered closely together. I shove my sister down behind some discarded chairs and camping materials, using the collapsed tent to cover us._

_My blood thunders in my ears, my adrenaline trying to convince me to keep running, keep fleeing. Head turned to the side, one eye half uncovered, I watch a pair of boots come to a stop one meter from our noses. Sweat turns to ice on upper lip. I dig my nails into the fleshy part of Daphne's arm as they stride closer, closer._

_The canvas is ripped off and thrown back to expose us like moles in a burrow. The hooded figure flicks his wand again, and as the magic simmers around us, I see its hand--white, knobby fingers with immaculately manicured nails wrapped around the hilt of its black wand. My sister and I begin to float, rising slowly into the summer air, spines locked and muscles turned to lead by whatever spell our attacker must have muttered behind their mask. There's a crack and we're bent backwards into impossible yoga poses. Daphne's mouth is open in agony, silvery tears leaking from her eyes. I want to reach her, touch her hand, let her know it's okay because we'll go together and--_

I thrash awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and staring around at the darkness. As my eyes adjust, I focus on the contrast between my white sheets against the mustard yellow comforter of my bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory. Matching curtains, made of a heavier material, are shut against the chill of the castle but I force them open. In my sock feet, I wander slowly up the sloping hall, arms wrapped around my ribcage. 

The common room, the center of our honeycomb style apartments, is empty and dark. A fire in the grate grumbles softly as if my woolen feet have disturbed it; it must be very late or very early. I seize a knit blanket out of a tangled heap and throw it around my shoulders before tiptoeing up another sloping hall toward the wooden door of the complex. I nudge it open, not wanting the squeaking hinge to wake anyone or alert Mrs. Norris of my presence. 

My body knows where to go, so I let my mind begin the work of resealing the hamper of memory. I've been having the dream for a week, ever since Daphne and I escaped unscathed from the Death Eaters. In reality, hiding under the canvas worked; they weren't looking for witches with one Muggle parent, after all, just plain Muggles, but seeing what happened to that poor family--

I ease the kitchen door open and shut, rousing a few House Elves who are drinking mugs of steaming liquid around the gigantic hearth used for heating dishwater. Their leathery faces turn to cheerful smiles when they spot me. One dashes up and throws its skinny arms around my middle. "Welcome home, Nelly!" 

She's the only person I allow to call me Nelly besides my nan. "Hi Wendi." I squeeze her back. 

Her enormous eyes dart over my pajamas and sock feet as her thin mouth twists into a scowl. "Pulling all nighters already, Nelly?" 

"No just a nightmare. I was wondering if you had any jam rolls left from dinner." She nods at a shorter, gray elf who begins to hobble to the pantry. "Oh, no, I can get it." I wave my wand, stowed in my sleeve as always, muttering accio under my breath. A roll hurtles straight for my nose, but I snatch it before it can smash and take a huge bite. 

"What was your dream about," asks Wendi. 

I shrug. "I showed up for an exam in my pants." 

Her laughter bubbles up out of her chest, spilling over like fizzing liquid. I smile back, swallowing the pastry. Within another bite, I feel my anxiety easing, shoulders relaxing. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, which makes Wendi cringe; she snaps her fingers and the sticky residue disappears. 

"Do you need anything else, Nelly?" 

"Just a visit with you guys," I say, taking a seat in one of the teeny wooden chairs next to the hearth. The Elves crowd around me and begin telling a funny anecdote about Dobby the ex-House Elf.

By the time I stumble into the dorm, students with early classes are stirring. A few first years duck their heads as they pass me in the common room laden with books, cauldrons, and parchment, their ties knotted incorrectly and their knee socks already drooping. Once back in the semidarkness of the sleeping chamber, the dream rises in all its haunting glory and disintegrates the strawberry flavor from my tongue. I chew the inside of my cheek and slide between the hangings of my bed, drawing my knees to my chest and focusing on filling my lungs with fresh air and pushing it out again. I force myself to wad the memory of the dream up like a piece of old parchment and toss it into a waiting bin; the real images of the battered Muggles and the terrifying hooded figures crowd forward in its but I bash them back with a good memory: 

Tollie Windmere sitting across from me on the train, laughing at my anecdotes and asking questions about my family, my summer, _me_. Her white-blond hair catching the light, her dark brown eyes sparkling like polished smokey quartz. I close my eyes, a smile blooming on my face. Finally, my lovely, sophisticated crush knows my name. 


	5. Ringwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa sneaks out to meet Reuben at their secret place

I ease the covers away and let one leg drop off my mattress, then the other, my feet flattening against the freezing floor. It's September, but Hogwarts is already an icebox. I haul on a pair of jeans, cursing the stiff fabric around my middle, and then one of Reuben's knit cardigans; it smells like him and I take a moment to bask in the mint-and-cologne scent before cuffing the sleeves and slipping my wand in a gigantic pocket.

I'm in the common room and at the portrait hole, Converse dangling from my fingertips, when a gust of magic seals the opening shut. 

"Miss Ringwald," says an awfully familiar, shrill voice. "What could you possibly doing out of bed?" 

I roll my eyes and poke the canvas, knowing it won't budge and knowing she'll just continue to tease me until I turn around. "Let me out, Becky," I grumble before realizing I shouldn't have called her Becky. 

Rebecca's voice deepens and slows, curling out of her mouth like a personified scowl. "Ah, Miss Ringwald. One thousand points from Gryffindor; I believe that's a new school record." 

A perfect McGonagall followed by an impeccable Snape. I jump when a log shifts in the chattering fire, sending orange and gold sparks shooting up the chimney. "Rebecca, cut it out," I hiss, finally facing her. She's lounging in an armchair nearest to the door, her thin legs crossed in a pretzel knot, birchwood wand aimed at the portrait. 

"Going to see Benny?" 

"Yes." 

"Do be careful, darling." Her face is the portrait of concern, but her eyes gleam in the red tinted darkness. 

"Is that all you wanted to say?" 

She shrugs, "I just thought I'd keep things interesting for you." She brushes a piece of lint from her flannel pajama set. "I mean, you _have_ been doing this for _years_ now," this time her voice has risen in volume. 

I sigh, joining my hands together like a choir soloist. "Please open the door, please, before you wake up the entire dormitory." 

She smirks, waving her wand. The portrait gently swings open, bumping me in the shoulder. "You're welcome," she mouths. 

I flip her off as I hurry into the hall, jamming my Converse on my bare feet. I sneak away with no interruption; the fat lady is snoring against one of the painted pillars in her portrait, wine glass dangling by its stem in her hand.

I love the castle at night; its wide halls are empty save the peaceful, silvery ghosts, who don't seem to mind students being out of bed. No one raises an alarm except Peeves; if that happens it's best just to turn around and sprint for your bed before McGonagall catches you. 

I weave through the maze of corridors and changing staircases, stumbling when one decides to move while I'm on the third step from the bottom. Moonlight filters through colored and clear glass windows, pooling on the floor in lovely patterns. I manage to jolt one portrait subject awake with a squeak of my Converse, but luckily it's a painting of a famous war horse; he just snorts as me crossly and returns to his slumber.

Finally, I make it to the ground floor and onto the front lawn. The sky yawns dark and blue and star-studded above me as I jog through the grass. A soft breeze pushes my mass of curls back from my forehead, cheeks, and shoulders. I breathe it in, filling my lungs with chilly air and letting out in a whoosh. The castle at my back, the Whomping Willow growing closer at my front.

_Home._

I smile to myself as I slow to a walk before the heavy, weaving branches of the Willow. I see a familiar gray sweatshirt peaking between the branches, so I shout, "Let me in, asshole." 

A laugh, husky like the whispering leaves, reaches me in the sudden silence after the branches freeze. Reuben emerges from their green shadow, arms crossed over his chest, eyes twinkling. "Glad you could make it, Pippa." 

"Rebecca caught me leaving." 

He snorts. "She knows the drill." 

"She was extra helpful tonight," I say.

"McGonagall or Snape?" 

"Both," I tell him. I've walked under the cover of the branches. Reuben extends a calloused hand to help me into the passage between the roots. "Please," I say as I let myself down instead. He whistles and joins me in the shadows. 

Our sneakers scrape against the packed earth path as we wander along. His hand finds mine in the darkness, and, as always, his touch sends electricity shooting up my arm. 

We didn't know about the Whomping Willow passage until last year, when we'd snuck out to meet under the Quidditch risers. It had become a ritual, preformed once a week, to sneak out of the castle and meet somewhere on the grounds to talk and snog and be together without the rest of our group staring at us. Last year, we'd been in the middle of quite a heated session when sharp screams and curses drew our attention. We'd pushed to our feet and followed the voices, keeping low so we weren't spotted by snitches; we'd crested the hill next to the Whomping Willow just as Ron Weasley got dragged under by a gigantic black dog. A few minutes later, Harry and Hermione had disappeared as well. Confused and highly intrigued, we'd waited until Professor Lupin appeared and somehow stopped the branches from waving. Not interested in twiddling our thumbs unless another professor suddenly appeared to assist Lupin and found us out of bed, we'd stumbled back to the castle, making plans to figure out how the tree worked. It had taken us a few hours the next night, but finally we'd army crawled under the branches and found the special knot. 

We emerge in the Shrieking Shack, Reuben mumbling _lumos_ ; the familiar broken bed slouches against one wall, its mattress spilling haphazardly to the plank floor. We flop down there, Reu stopping to prize up a floorboard and haul out two butterbeers from our stash. He opens them effortlessly and hands me one. 

"M'lady." He clinks his bottle against mine and takes a swig. 

"To fourth year," I say, taking a sip. 

"To the Triwizard Tournament." 

"Are you going to try and put your name in the Goblet?" 

He scoffs. "Pippa, I thought you knew me better than that." 

"So, yes, then," I say. 

He grins, "I was going to drop your name in, too." 

"Save it," I say. "I have too much on my plate this year." 

"Aw c'mon, Pip. With the winnings you could _buy_ your diploma." 

"Or I could just study like a normal person. Plus we aren't old enough for it, dummy." 

"I happen to know that the Weasley twins are working on an aging potion." He wriggles his eyebrows. 

"Dumbledore will have thought of that." 

He shrugs, "It doesn't mean I can't try." 

I roll my eyes and take another sip of butterbeer before sitting the bottle on the floor. I lean back against the mattress and shut my eyes. It shifts as Reuben stretches out beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squishing me to his side. 

"You're cute when you're exasperated," he whispers. 

I purse my lips. "You're confusing exasperated with practical." 

He kisses my temple. "So buy me a dictionary." 

"With all that Triwizard money, I'd think you can afford a good _Oxford Advanced_." 

He kisses my cheek. "You think I'd win?" 

"With all your masculine bravado, I think you can do anything," I say, trying to ignore the heat in my stomach, neck, and face. 

He kisses the corner of my mouth and I fight to keep the thread of the conversation. "It's called Gryffindor courage," he says. He sits up before bracing his forearms on either side of me. He kisses my other cheek, letting the tip of his nose brush mine as our eyes meet. 

I cover a breathless hesitation with an indulgent smirk. "It's called being a cocky, reckless ass." 

"You love it," Reuben mumbles, eyes bouncing to my lips and back. 

_Damn those eyes_. Even in the gray and black shadows of the Shrieking Shack, his irises look like polished mahogany glowing in the sun. _Damn it._

I'm out of words, so I hook my legs around his, flipping us over. The surprise in his eyes brings the heat to a dull roar in my stomach; now it's my turn to smirk and lean in. When I kiss him it's like we never spent a summer apart. When I kiss him, all the stress of struggling to heave my marks out of the pit they're in, of failing to live up to my brother's impossible standards, of not meeting my parents' expectations _again_ completely melts. All I know is that I'm Reuben Samuels's girlfriend and he's kissing me and thank God for that. 


	6. Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rae sneaks out to meet a mysterious friend.

The door to the dungeons bumps closed and I release a sigh of relief. No one spotted me leaving the Slytherin dorms though an entire group of third years was camped in the common room; they were snoring pretty loudly, empty bottles of pumpkin schnapps resting in their laps, on table tops, and on the rugs covering the stone floor. I roll my eyes, checking that my wand is stowed safely in my robe pocket. 

The castle at night is creepy, but less so once the cavernous dungeons are farther behind me; contrary to popular belief, the Slytherin common room and dorms are _not_ in the dungeons themselves, but located through a narrow hallway that branches away from the main honeycomb of cells and torture chambers. Our apartments are directly under the lake, which means beautiful green light filters through the water and illuminates the common room during the day. We can watch Lucinda the giant squid swim languidly through the gloom above us while we procrastinate Potions essays.

I stride through the halls, casting a bubble of silence around myself before I alert Filch, or worse Mrs. Norris, to my illegal presence. Me being caught out of bed means at least one hundred points from Slytherin, and my housemates are weary of losing the House Cup these last three years; I'm not messing it up for them if I can help it, but that isn't going to stop me from doing what I want. Cautiously. 

I'm about to begin the trek upstairs to the library when I hear the unmistakeable scrape of shoes on stone. My heart thundering, I flatten myself behind a silvery suit of armor and press my palm over my mouth. I peak around the left leg with one eye. I stifle the urge to groan. 

Filippa Ringwald is dashing down the stairs, Converse soles thudding as she leaps over the last set. Her black curls flop into her eyes but she shoves them back, mumbling under her breath about braids, hair ties, and shaving cream. An image of Rindwald with a buzzcut flashes through my mind and I cringe; I hope she goes with braids. 

The danger flies down the opposite corridor, but even so, I count to thirty before sliding from my hiding place, moving slowly up the same staircase Ringwald just vaulted over. 

_How she hasn't broken her neck yet astounds me. She must charm her laces to keep from tripping._

I push her out of my mind; distraction will only get me detention with Filch, polishing his old torture chamber memorabilia while he explains in excruciating detail what each of them was for. I shudder, pausing to listen for any more approaching feet. Confident that I'm alone, I start off again for the library. 

The towering doors are bolted, but that's no match for _alohomora_. With a click and a nudge, they drift open and I slip inside. The smell of leather, ink, and mildew wraps itself around me like a threadbare cardigan and I sigh; I can already see myself hunched over books and papers and quills at one of the tables, hands smudged with black and headache pounding at my temples. I love school, but I am _dreading_ exam week. I wander through the shelves, trailing my fingertips gently along the soft, wrinkled leather, wondering which ones I'll have to use for essays and which I'll sneak home over Christmas for extra reading. I make my way slowly to the very back left corner, where shadows and cobwebs are as cramped together as the books. 

He's waiting for me, leaning against a shelf with his long legs crossed at the ankle, reading a particularly fat tome by the dim light of his wand. His white blonde hair glows. I've come upon him so quietly that he doesn't notice me, so I murmur _lumos_. The bright white flare startles him to his feet; I dart forward and catch the book before it can smack the library floor. 

"Oops," I say softly. "Just wanted to test your Slytherin Seeker reflexes." 

His eyes narrow as his thin lips twist into a smirk. "Nice way to greet an old friend." 

"Have you been practicing that in the mirror?" 

He shrugs, "And if I had?" 

"I would tell you to go straight to hell, Malfoy." 

Draco steps forward until the tip of my wand rests in the center of his chest. "Only if you'd come with me, Holmes." 

"Is that what you were reading when I got here," I thrust the book at him. "Cheesy Pick Up Lines to Woo Witches?" 

He smirks and shrugs again, slotting the book neatly into its proper place.

We've been doing this all summer, this banter filling the spaces between sneaking off into his family's hedge maze, behind the stables, under the willows near their duck pond; I would've pulled him into an empty compartment on the Express had he not completely turned his back on me while standing with his gargoyles. One second I was walking up to him, already smiling, and the next I was dropping my hand, smoothing my face, and scanning the platform for Alistair and Jack. Now he stands here, cooly regarding me like I'm a particularly smart pair of slacks, and I remember the rebuff. How it felt to slide my hand back into my pocket.

"So," he begins. 

"So." 

"You said you wanted to see me?" He waves a small slip of paper, holding it the way London boys hold cigarettes. 

"Yes." I wonder why he looks so nonplussed. "I wanted to know what we're--" 

Draco holds up a hand, "Stop. I don't want to answer that." 

Now it's my turn to be baffled. "Pardon?" 

"You want to know what we're doing _here_. If we're going to...continue." 

"I'm sorry--is that not a normal question for the person you've been snogging for three months to ask?" 

His mouth tightens. "It is. But it's not something I want to answer." 

I stare at him, mouth slightly open in honest disbelief. Then my brow creases and my lip curls and I hear myself snarl, "You don't want to answer it? Pardon? Would you like to use the _sonorus_ charm so that I can hear you better?" 

"No you heard me correctly, Holmes. No charm needed, well done," he says with a wink. A damned wink. 

I cross my arms over my chest. "So what am I supposed to do with that?" 

"Take it to lunch," he pushes off the desk and in two steps is so close I have to tilt my head completely back to glare at him. "Buy it expensive wine." He leans down and kisses me, and for a second all I want to do is grind the heel of my Oxfords on his toes...but. 

Damn. 

My stomach hollows out and is refilled with fire. Before I can think, I've looped my arms around his waist to bring him closer and he's nudged me to the side until my shoulder presses against one of the shelves. Suddenly, I'm perfectly content to stay right there in the library, kissing Draco Malfoy until the sun comes up. _Secrecy, clandestine meetings--an adventure. I can do that_ , I think. 

His mouth inches off mine and to my cheek, my jaw, my neck as my fingers reach up to tangle themselves in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He's made it down to the rim of my collar and I feel his delicate fingers fondling the top button of my shirt, shoving the silky Slytherin tie out of the way. All rational thoughts swirl and muddy as an image of myself surfaces--green and silver tie dangling around my neck, smooth against my bare skin--but before I can make that happen, he stops. 

Sharp inhale. Step back. 

I watch him draw the back of his hand--the hand that had started unbuttoning my shirt--across his mouth, his eyes staring over my shoulder. Rumpled and red, I follow his gaze and make eye contact with Mrs. Norris. She blinks and I feel as if she's snapped a photo; her silent, velvet paws turn and carry her out of the library. 

My heart immediately gallops into my throat as adrenaline pulses to my toes. I'm fleeing after her as fast as I can, out the door and nearing the stairs with Malfoy thundering unhelpfully behind me. I leap the last flight, remembering Filipa Ringwald in midair and cursing myself for judging her so quickly. I land with what I hope is a near silent bump but I'm sure is a full volume crash. 

A cold hand wraps around my wrist and whirls me to the side, forcing me to stumble into an alcove beneath the staircase. Malfoy rushes in after me, shoving me deeper into the narrow corner. His cheeks have two bright red spots in them, like drops of blood on fresh snow. His pin straight hair is messy, slightly damp at the temples. Yellow light from a torch dances along his straight nose. I bite my lip and look at my shoelaces. 

After a few undignified seconds of crouching and panting he dares to stick his face around the corner. Eyes scan the corridor. He shuffles out. "Clear," he mumbles a few seconds later. 

I follow him, opening my mouth to speak, but he's already heading towards the dungeons. Feeling like a foolish child, I trail after him, one hand on my wand. 

"We could have used _obliviate_ ," I offer once we're back in the gloom of the pre-common room passage. 

"Tried that second year. She's spelled against it," he says. 

I glance at him, stopping before the door. "How are you still at Hogwarts?" 

"My father." 

I roll my eyes and start to open the door for us, but he stops me with a grunt.

"Wait out here. Count to fifty." 

I start to retort, but Malfoy slips inside as silently as ghosts slip out of their graves. As I count, I press my lips together and try to forget the way he wiped me off. 


	7. Windmere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tollie and Nell are forced to study alone because Rae complains of a cold.

The grandfather clock's comfortable ticking is the only sound in the Hufflepuff common room besides the dry rustling of parchment and the scratch of my quill. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nell cross and uncross her legs for the fiftieth time. I can feel her nerves smarting, and I wonder why; McGonagall's essay is tough, and the prompt is vague, but it's not as if we're sallying forth completely blind. As she begins to recross her legs for the fifty-first time, I place my quill neatly in the spine of my open book and roll my neck, eyes darting to the clock's cheerful brass face. Three o'clock. We've been working for ten minutes. 

I look at Nell and see that she's already staring. Flushing, clearing her throat, Nell says, "Shame Rae couldn't come." 

"Shame," I agree. "What was wrong?" 

"Cold, she said. Headache." She twines her fingers together. 

I lean back in the squishy leather armchair with a sigh, casting about for any common point of discussion. I remember that she plays Quidditch for Hufflepuff. "Are you sad that all the matches are canceled this year?" 

She blinks, not understanding. Then, "Oh, yes. _Yes_. I am!" A huge relieved smile rearranges her features; the corners of her eyes crinkle, her round cheeks shoving the lower lid up until the only thing left of her brown irises is a glimmer of sparkle. "I had a whole game plan ready in my head to tell Cedric the moment we got back to school, but then, you know, Dumbledore broke the news to us first, so I couldn't tell him, which is sad because it was a really good plan--I was taking notes at the World Cup, you know, before everything happened obviously, so I could have something ready to go. Cedric's really great. I'm glad he's captain. He's good at team work. Do you play sports?" 

"Er, no." I wave my hand to the cluttered table before us. "Books are my sport." 

"You've been on a broom, though, right?" 

"Sure, my first year of school. I wasn't very good at it, I'm afraid; my broom went wonky and I fell off." I cringe, remembering the ungraceful thud into the springy grass. "I only fell from six feet up, but I somehow landed with my butt in the air and flashed the entire first year class. You can imagine what happens when a bunch of Ravenclaws watch you disgrace yourself." The witty comments and notes had followed me for weeks; my ears were flushed red until Christmas. 

Nell laughs, "That's alright. You have potions." 

"Right," I say. 

"Um. Do you have any other hobbies?" 

I shrug. "I do watercolor sometimes, but they're just messy doodles." 

"I'm sure they aren't," Nell protests. "There's no way anything that comes from you is messy." She waves a hand from my head to my toes, and I blush slightly, though she's not wrong. 

"My parents are sticklers for clean and neat presentation. I've been pressing my own shirts since I was ten," I explain. 

Nell nods vigorously. "Mum did her best with me, but I was never much for neat." The knot of her school tie is loosened above a wrinkled white button down that has come untucked over the course of the day. Her wand is tucked balanced above her left ear, dangerously close to getting tangled in her cartilage hoops. 

"What," I say, brow wrinkling, "No way." 

She giggles and heaves her transfiguration book onto her lap. "Do you understand the prompt?" 

I sigh. "No, and I even asked her to clarify!" 

"I just don't understand why we already have a paper due! It's only the first week." Nell groans and slumps down in her chair with her legs stretched out; her feet barely reach the low table in front of us. "McConagall is the _worst_." 

"She's a good professor," I say. "I always learn so much in her class." 

"But at what _cost_ ," she moans. She holds her hands up for me to see. "I'm going to have carpal tunnel by the time I'm twenty."

I laugh and take one of them, inspecting the knuckles. "You have six years before then; I wouldn't worry." I release her, pick up my quill and a half empty piece of parchment. "Let's take it one step at a time, shall we? First: pick a topic. Second: research."

"Third: snack break," she asks hopefully. 

My stomach rumbles in agreement. "Let's do third: outlines, fourth: snack break." 

Nell's face settles into a determined grimace. "Fine." 


	8. Ringwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa sneaks out to meet Reuben, but she almost gets caught by Filch.

Rebecca elbows me in the ribs. "Hey," she hisses. "Wake up." 

I startle awake, heart hammering behind my ribs, and blink the dim Divination classroom into focus. "Is she here? Did I miss something?" 

"No, Sleeping Beauty, she hasn't shown yet." 

I frown, resting my forehead on the ochre and violet tablecloth. "Why'd you wake me up, then," I mumble. 

"I wanted to see how high you'd jump." 

I turn my head to the side to stick my tongue out at her. 

She laughs, "Hey, it's not my fault you sneak out every night. What kept you so late this time?" 

"Reu was helping me with McGonagall's essay." And with the removal of a particularly tight sweater... "It's crazy we already have an essay. Despotic crone." 

Rebecca whips her head around, the tips of her twin black braids slapping me on the nose. Her black eyes are perfectly wide when she looks back at me. "Are you _mental_? What if she heard you?" 

"McGonagall can't hear you from here," I say, sitting up and rubbing my eyes until I see stars. "But I probably am mental. That explains why I keep sneaking out even though I fell asleep in Potions yesterday." 

She snorts. "You're getting too old for this, Pippa." 

I pout, resting my chin in my palm. "I know, I know. Who would have thought fourteen was the new forty?"

"Hey," she says. "You never know when you're going to die. This could be your middle age." 

I laugh as Professor Trelawny sweeps into the attic, smoke billowing from beneath her emerald robes. Rebecca and I make eye contact over our gleaming crystal ball. I raise my eyebrows, _That's a new one_. 

She wriggles them, _We should try it._

***

Reuben appeared at my elbow at lunch. "I can't do the willow tonight," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 

"Why not," I'd asked the cheese toastie in front of me. 

He'd sipped some water, eyes on the professor's table. "I heard Filch talking about finding a pair of students out of bed on the first week. For some reason, he thinks that whoever it was has kept sneaking out every night." 

My eyes slid to his profile. "You think he suspects us?" 

He faced me with a shrug. "Maybe not. Could be the Dream Team." He nodded up the table to Harry Potter and his friends. 

I snorted. "This early in the school year?" 

He chuckled. "Better them than us, though, right?" 

"I guess," I'd said. I chew my sandwich. "So where do you want to meet?" 

"There's a storage room near the Divination attic. Three doors down. Used to be Trelawny's classroom I think." 

I'd nodded, "Okay." 

Now, I stand alone in the storage classroom, completely smothered under the spiced stench cloud leaking from Trelawny's attic. I look around again, but the desks and chairs have been stacked and shoved against the walls, so there's nothing to really see. Cobwebs dangle from the ceiling like Muggle Halloween decorations, and a layer of gray dust has settled over everything like cement. 

I sigh, yawn into the sleeve of my Gryffindor Flying Squad hoodie, and then shove the sleeve up to see my watch. I squint. Midnight. 

_He's late._ I pace towards the door, cracking it and peaking into the dark corridor. 

I let it shut and groan into the empty room. "Where the hell is he?"

 _He's never late. I'd think he'd forgotten, but that doesn't make any sense--he chose the spot and time_. I take a seat on the floor, weaving my legs into a pretzel and bracing my elbows on my knees. _Surely Filch didn't catch him?_ I pick at my nails, watching the nude polish float to the floor. I glance at my watch. _Five more minutes and then I'm out_. 

***

I wake up to a gruff voice outside the door. 

"Mrs. Norris tracked one of them here, professor." _Filch_. 

I startle up, casting about wildly for somewhere to hide as strings of curse words rattle around in my head. 

"Really." I'd know that sluggish, bored drawl anywhere. "What a lovely blood hound you have here." _Snape_. 

My eyes land on a huge jumble of boxes pushed against the wall adjacent to the door. I've folded all five and a half feet of me into the biggest one when I hear the door swing open. I shut my eyes and pray to any and every deity. 

"It's good your guard kitten was on the case, Filch," Snape says. I imagine his trademark smirk. "We might have forgotten to dust this room." 

Filch grunts, and I hear a disgruntled meow before the door shuts again. I count to fifty before daring to poke my head above the rim of the box and exhaling. I check my watch: six in the morning. If the windows were freed from their desk and chair cages, I'd be able to see the sun rising over the grounds. Cursing Reuben and myself and Snape and Filch, I clamber out of the box, but at the last second, one of my shoes hooks on its side and I fall. My knees smack the ground and I feel the skin tear. Hissing, I frown down at the scrape as it wells ruby red blood. 

_Seriously fuck Reuben._


End file.
